


Doomsday (On the Other Side of Town)

by thedisassociation



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/pseuds/thedisassociation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalypse doesn't stop for birthdays. More or less. Ichabod/Abbie friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doomsday (On the Other Side of Town)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Sam. Happy birthday.

Abbie woke up gently, the soft morning light filtering in through the curtains. She glanced at the alarm and shut her eyes in annoyance. It was going to go off in only a few minutes and she would have to get up. A new day, a new impending apocalypse. It had been too quiet lately.

A loud clattering came from the living room, followed by several bangs and a couple of whacks.

Abbie could only assume it was Crane, who had insisted for undeclared reasons that he was going to sleep on her couch. She considered staying in bed for a little longer, ignoring the world and all of its recent apocalyptic activity. She sighed and got out of bed anyway. “For all I know, there are a couple of medieval something-or-others summoning an evil thing from out of the oven,” she said to herself, sitting up and turning the alarm off.

She was close.

She crept into the living room quietly, peering around the corner. It was empty. Abbie pressed on, following the sounds of metal ringing and muted swear words, until she reached the open door to the kitchen.

There were no medieval anythings in the kitchen, just Ichabod, standing still and staring at the oven. His jacket was disheveled, flour covering the shoulders and both sleeves. There was something white and creamy smeared across his cheek and she really hoped that it was frosting.

"Uh…Crane? You okay in here?"

Ichabod turned in alarm, his eyes widening. “Yes, yes, of course,” he started. He swiveled around towards the counter. “You’re early, Miss Mills,” he said. “You are not scheduled to wake up for several more minutes.”

Abbie arched an eyebrow at him. “Someone was making a lot of noise in the kitchen.”

"Ah!" Ichabod grabbed something and turned back to face her triumphantly. He held two…party hats in his hands. He placed one, the rainbow colored one with polka dots, gingerly on top of his head and dropped the other, the striped one with the red ball on top, carefully on Abbie’s head before she could stop him.

"I am told that these are customary birthday accoutrements in this day and age," he said.

Abbie wasn’t immediately sure what the say. There was a 250 year old Revolutionary War soldier in her kitchen wearing a festive party hat and covered in what she was now sure had to be frosting.

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

Ichabod grinned, peering down at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I have my ways,” he said mysteriously. “Now, Miss Mills, there is no time to waste,” he went on. “I am unable to locate a protective covering which I might wear to protect my hands while I remove your cake from the oven and I fear that it may be burning.”

Abbie couldn’t help but smile. “Oven mitts are in the drawer on the left.”

Crane nodded. “I was told that there should be protective gloves placed in a position of prominence near the oven,” he explained.

"Have you been talking to Yolanda again? Is that how you got all of this stuff?"

"There is no time," Crane replied, peering down at her cheekily. He smiled brightly. "I am told that there should be a song to accompany one’s cake. I have prepared what I believe to be a fairly modern rendition of a popular song from my time."

Abbie’s smile grew and she laughed, shaking her head slightly. Ichabod was strange but his sweetness had grown on her. “You’d better let me handle it from here, Crane,” she said, grabbing the oven mitts from the drawer and eyeing the mess of cake batter covering the counter.

Crane nodded gravely. “I think that would be best,” he agreed. Ichabod continued to smile at her as she pulled his cake out of the oven. “Happy birthday,  _Abigail_.”

"Thanks," she said, still smiling.


End file.
